


The Angel in The Marble

by lunamayma



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s), Original Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunamayma/pseuds/lunamayma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lonely artist sells his soul to bring an angel t life with dire consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 The Artist creates the Angel by accident. The Artist sat for many days crying and crying. The room flooded with tears and sadness and regret. Then the Artist turned on his Muse. His Muse stood in the corner, curled and broken. The Artist smashed and hammered and cried and drew and painted until his muse was dead. His Muse left in the dark of the night, leaving a cold darkness in the room. And then the Artist heard the Angel. At first it's a small whining. Then it's a scratching. Then a screaming. So the Artist picks up his tools and carves the Angel out.

The Angel comes out of the marble with milky white skin and blank white eyes. The Angel is soft and lovely. Even though the Angel's body is made from rock and hardness and brutality, it is soft and silky. Perfect. The Artist admires the Angel he has created. He touches the Angel's skin. The Angel is cold, yet it is warm. The Angel is chilled to the bone, yet it is burning with the fires of hell. 

New life. The Artist has created a brand new thing. He drags the tips of his fingers across the Angel's face. The stone lips were innocent. The blank white eyes were guiltless. Not yet has a critic scorned the Angel's pouting mouth or shamed the Angel's dancer like legs. Not yet. Not ever.

The Artist sits for a few hours, watching his Angel. He watched how the Angel was shaped so perfectly. Like a porcelain rose. The Artist breathes slowly. The Angel lit something in him. A spark. No a fire. A fire that was going to kill him. A fire that was going to crawl into his throat and choke him with black smoke. The Artist coughs. The Angel was going to be the Death of him. The Artist gets up from his couch and puts out his cigarette. The Angel is pushed into a corner. The Angel will not be killing him tonight.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Artist wakes up to see the Angel. He's caught again by its beautiful and perfect body. It reaches out with the soft, stone hands. The Artist is going made. He can hear the faint sound of the Angel calling for him. _Master, master._ The Artist growls at the Angel. He wants it to be quiet. He wants the beautiful voice to go away. _Creator. Lover._ That's when the Artist loses his control. He uses the nearest hammer and he breaks the Angel's skin. He makes chips in the Angel's flawless marble. And then he regrets it. The Artist drops the hammer and runs to kiss and apologize to the Angel.

The Artist then sits on the floor for hours making clay. His hands are raw and sore by the time he is finished, but he does not care. He lovingly rubs clay into the bruises he has caused. The Artist smiles as his perfect Angel becomes whole again. The Artist slides the clay in between fingers and underneath armpits. After hours of gently remaking his creation, he falls to the ground. And cries. And when he cries, he cries about things he never knew he cared about. The Artist cries about love. Because over the coarse of a day, two packs of cigarettes and four crying sessions he has fallen in love with a sculpture. An Angel sculpture at that. A beautiful Angel that makes his breath shallow and his heart swells and his hands sweat.

 _Master? Master._ The Artist looks up from his hands. He smiles weakly at the Angel. The soft bubbly voice giggles. _Master?_

“Yes?” The Artist picks himself up from the floor. “Yes?”

 _Make me real. Make me real master. Make me into a real Angel._ The Artist's heart breaks. His heart shatters because his angel wants something that he can't give to it. The Artist touches the Angel's cheek.

_Master give me flesh. Make me breathe. Show me how to be yours._

“I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Artist makes a deal with the Devil. It's a trivial deal, cliché and expected. The Artist sold his soul to the Devil. Even though the Artist is now a soulless being he walks into his home filled with joy. The Artist waits and waits for the Devil to fulfill his promise towards him. It is near midnight when he hears sweet giggling. The Artist jumps from his bed and into his studio. Where a cold lifeless block of marble once stood, a giggling young rock played. The Angel sat on the floor, dressed in the barest of clothing, fiddling with his paintbrushes. The Artist smiled. 

Oh how innocent it looked. Paints splashed against the Angel's skin. Once marble skin, turned blue. The Angel squeals in joy. The Artist walks over to his creation and holds out his hand. For the first time, the Artist feels how silk like the Angel really is. It is so gentle. Like a little wave in a large ocean. The Artist feels that flutter in his stomach again. That flutter that makes him melt. 

“Hello.” The Artist holds the Angel close to him. He takes in how innocent the Angel is. How it smells like milk and honey and softness. Amazing. “Hello my Angel.”

“Master.” The Angel makes little mewling noises with it's mouth. The Artist is lost in a personal bliss. A perfect creature is in his arms. He could do as he pleased to th-

“Master love me.” The Artist cups his Angel's cheek. “Master love me.”

“I see you are trying to master your words. Don't worry honey, we'll work on that later. Let's get some sleep now.” The Artist picks the Angel up and carries his moving statue to bed. The Angel curls up around the Artist. They sleep.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Artist wakes and is startled when he feels the warm body of the Angel next to him. He's lost for words. The creature beside him sleeps peacefully. For most of the night, the Artist stayed awake and stared at his creation. His was captured by it's beauty. Again and again, the Angel found new ways to make him gasp. The Artist pushes himself out of bed. Slipping into his slippers, he makes his way into the kitchen. Last night when he brought his Angel to life, he barely ate. So he barely cleaned. And because he barely cleaned, his kitchen was covered in pots and pans and paint and grime. The Artist sighs. He should start cleaning.

“Master? Master I'm cold.” The Angel is standing in the doorway, covered by the blanket. It's hair has gained some color and it's skin has too. The once pale flesh has taken on a pinkish tone. The Artist smiles. He beckons for the Angel. “Brr Master.”

“You need something to eat?” 

“Yes Master.”

“How about pancakes?”

“What are those Master?” The Angel sits at the table, playing with it's fingers. 

The Artist smiles and takes eggs and milk from the fridge. He's mesmerized with how innocent and thoughtless the Angel is. It's childlike almost. 

“Do you want to watch me make them?”

“Please Master yes! Please!” The Angel is excited now. “Can I help Master!?”

“Yeah.” The Artist cracks the eggs and mixes all of the dry ingredients together. “You can help eat them. Sit down baby.”

“Yes Master.” The Angel watches in awe as The Artist makes pancakes for it. The Artist makes a big show out of flipping the pancakes and putting them onto the plate. Syrup is drizzled over the large stack of flapjacks and then served with berries and juice. 

“Eat up sweetheart.” The Artist hands the Angel a fork. “Do you need help?” 

“No Master. See?” The Angel makes a very good attempt to eat by itself. It tries to cut the pancakes and tries very hard to put the food into it's mouth, but doesn't succeed. “ I'm sorry Master.”

The Artist laughs and picks up his own fork. “ Open your mouth love.” The Angel does and the Artist puts a few pieces of pancake in it's mouth. “Yummy isn't it?”

“Master I like this! More please!” The Angel opens it's mouth again,smiling and drooling a little. The Artist laughs and spends a few minutes feed his creation. It's eight when the Angel is finally satisfied. He takes a few bites of food too and then puts the dishes into the sink. 

“Alright babe. How about I set some cartoons up for you? Master has to work now.” The Angel follows him into the living room. The Artist sits the Angel down and turns on some crappy kids show. Immediately the Angel is entranced by the bright colors and silly characters.

As the Angel laughs and giggles at the antics of a cat, the Artist attempts to get his workspace clean. Dishes are cleaned, paint is put away, chisels are washed and set into containers. Within an hour, the Artist has a somewhat neat home. 

“Master! Master something's buzzing.” The Artist catches sight of his cellphone on the table. He puts his finger up to his mouth, telling the Angel to be quiet.

“Hello?”

“ _You have a month.”_

The caller hangs up and the Artist is left with an empty feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intensely short chapter, but the next one has smut!

 The Artist spends the day painting. He ignores his Angel completely, spending his time mixing colors on empty canvases. His mind is racing. Hours ago, he got a very disturbing call. He knew who the caller was. He owed the caller his soul. The Artist sits with his head in his hands. Rage flows through him. He couldn't give up his soul now. He had everything. The Artist had love. The Artist throws his tools down and stomps into the living room. The Angel is sitting on the couch transfixed by a soap opera. 

“Master...what's love making?” The Angel bites his lip. “I want it.” The Angel then strips. It takes of the blanket and removes the white cloth it was “born” in. Then the Artist knows that his Angel is not an it, but a he.

“It's...it's...” The Angel sits back down on the couch. The Artist is once more captured by beauty. He has new body parts to admire, new bits to explore. Without thinking the Artist says, “Let's play a game...Ganymede.”  


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very smutty smut smutty.

Nipples. Lips. Nose. Fingertips. Ganymede giggles and touches back, chanting the four words in a sing-song voice. “Nipples. Lips. Nose. Fingertips.” The Artist smiles at Ganymede. They had been playing this game for most of the night. The Artist would make up a rhyme and touch Ganymede, the Ganymede would sing the rhyme while touching him back. The Artist didn't let Ganymede touch his penis though. He figured that the young man would need time before they got to that. The young Angel still shivered when he was kissed on the lips.

“Kiss my nose and kiss my ear, put your fingertips right here.” The Artist followed his rhyme and put his fingertips on Ganymede's pelvis. Ganymede shudder and moved his body closer to the Artist. “K-kiss my nose and kiss my ear, put your fingertips h-here.” Ganymede shook as he kissed the Artist's nose and ear. He then dragged his fingers from the Artist's chest down to his pelvis. 

“Pleasure can come in shakes and ripples, put you mouth on my nipples.”The Artist pulls Ganymede closer to him, then took Ganymede's right nipple into his mouth. He rolled the pink pebble in his mouth until it was hard. Ganymede gripped the Artist's hair tight, begging for his Master to not stop. The Artist hummed around the nipple, then licked a wet line to the left one. He sucked and nibble on the nipple, causing Ganymede to moan wantonly. The Artist gives the left nipple a little bite. He licks a line up past Ganymede's adam apple. The Artist bites Ganymede's lips. 

“Your turn.”

Ganymede is shaking violently when he whispers, “P-P-Pleasure c-can come...oh...in sh-shakes and r-ripples...uhmp....put y-your mo-mouth on mynipples!AH!” Ganymede does his turn so quickly that he bites the Artist's nipple a bit too hard. The Artist moans though and gives Ganymede a little squeeze to let the young man know it was okay.

“I love you darling and I do mean this. Don't repeat me, just touch my penis.” The Artist takes one of Ganymede's hands and drags it down his body. The Artist pulls down his boxers and tosses them off the bed. “Don't be scared. Touch me.”

Ganymede takes in a deep breath and touches the soft foreskin of the Artist's penis. As he worked up confidence, he touched more and more of the man's penis. Finally, Ganymede gripped the shaft and gave it a good jerk. The Artist is moaning and asking him for something, but Ganymede is lost in personal bliss.

“Stop it now!”

And then Ganymede stopped. Because he felt as if he was no longer Ganymede. But just the Angel. 

“Yes Master.” Ganymede burrowed himself underneath the covers. “Good night Master.”

As the Artist listens to his Angel breathe, he feels a pulling at his chest. Like someone-or something- was yanking out his soul.


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you still love me Jacob?” Ganymede is sitting at the table, staring out of the window. His breakfast is getting cold in front of him. The bacon has lost it's crunch and the cereal is soggy. Ganymede pushes it away. He has no interest in food. 

The Artist – now named Jacob- looks up from the newspaper. Over the last few days the makeshift couple drifted apart. Jacob started to become more aggressive towards Ganymede. The young Angel already had dark blue bruises painting his body. Of course, Jacob would apologize, but Ganymede would get this far off look on his face. A look that said the sparky young Ganymede wasn't there anymore. Ganymede had changed too. His excitement about the world lessened as he watched more and more T.V. The news was the main factor to his sadness. Wars, scandals, controversies. They all made him doubt that the world was a beautiful place.

“Jacob, I said do you still love me?” Ganymede said it a little bit louder, this time getting up from the table. 

“I don't know.” Jacob put down the newspaper and switched on the television, no longer paying Ganymede any attention. 

“How could you not know? How could you not know what you feel about me, your creation? Or is that all I am for you? A piece of marble. Walking rock!” 

“Ganymede shut up. I'm trying to watch my show.” Jacob said, his voice bored and tired. 

“I WON'T SHUT UP!” Ganymede flipped the table and stomped over to the couch. “Jacob Artist you will pay attention to me!”

Jacob didn't turn around or flinch when Ganymede punched him in the face. “I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU.” Ganymede punched him one more time, leaving a bruise on Jacob's cheek. 

Ganymede screamed in frustration, then ran off to the bedroom. The door slammed and the apartment vibrated.

“I love you Ganymede.”

 


End file.
